Horizon
by polin1416
Summary: "It's the safest time of day for us," he said, answering the unspoken question in my eyes. "The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way... the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?" He smiled wistfully. ** "Edward," I said carefully, "you're being a pretentious, self-loathing dick again. We've talked about this. Stop that."
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

I'd never given much thought to how I would die - which was nominally surprising, considering the turn my life had taken in the last few months. But despite my lack of attention to detail, I guess I'd never thought it would be like this.

I realized, as I stared into the rigid shards of glass and splintered floorboards burying the memories of a place I once knew, that in some ways it made sense. Or, at least, it was poetic. Sometimes that was the best you could ask for.

There were probably better ways to die - the way I had hastily planned for, in the place of someone I loved. Or some heroic death, one that was significant to a lot of people. Even surrounded by all the people I loved, ninety-three years old and barely sentient anymore, would probably be less pain.

I could admit that I was terrified; that this would be excruciating in every way; that if I had never gone to Forks, I would likely be sitting in the sun with a good book right now, completely unaware that there had been something worth missing.

The thought that I'd made the better decision calmed me. I raised my chin as the hunter sauntered forward to kill me.


	2. Chapter 1

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. This unassuming hellscape of my childhood summers bears the brunt of Mother Nature's harshest temper - it rains there more than any other place in the continental United States. I hated it, and I didn't even know how those forced to live there year-round suffered. My mother had smuggled me out with her when she left my father, Charlie. I was just a few months old.

I hadn't been there in close to four years, either. Beginning the summer before my freshman year, we'd come to an agreement, and now we vacationed for a few weeks in California instead. Or, we had.

Now, I supposed I was more like a consolation prize.

My father, or Chief Police Swann as the lovely people of Forks call him, is a good man. He's kind and polite and honest, hard-working and compassionate on the job. I just wish that being a good man was the only prerequisite for being a good father.

He works long hours, which is good for the town but annoying for anybody trying to have any sort of a relationship with him. He's quiet, too, which means on the nights that he _is_ home, not much happens. It feels like no matter how much you talk to him, nothing ever really moves forward. So, yes, my relationship with him was complicated.

I loved him because he was my father, and because he was a good man; whether or not he was a good father never really factored into it, because I was a good daughter. I knew that _I_ could shoulder the emotional baggage of noticeable rifts in my family. I wasn't so sure that he could, though, so I played the part.

In a way, I did the same thing with my mother.

She was the exact opposite of my father - so much so that I had no idea how they ever managed to exist on the same planet, let alone get married, for however short a time. She was vivacious, lively, charming - everything that looked attainable when somebody with absolute confidence did it.

And, at her very core, that was what my mother was - absolute. In everything she did, she was sure of herself. Like a force of nature, Renee Swann made an impression on everything she came into contact with. It was understandable that Charlie would fall in love with her. Conversely...

As sure as she was, my mother was also careless - which sounds awful to say. Not in the sense that she ever neglected me. It was just that sometimes she failed to consider me. Or anyone, really. After all, I think meteorologists would agree that it's a bit difficult to halt a force of nature once it gets started.

And now, rather than the sprawling city of Phoenix that I had come to love so wholeheartedly throughout my childhood, she'd set her heart on Florida. Her fiance, Phil, travels a lot for work, and I knew that he made her happy. Who was I to come between them?

That was the reason my mother was currently driving us to the airport, the windows rolled down.

I wasn't very tan, or very freckled, or anything other than very pale. I didn't fit in, per se, but I also didn't like anything other than Phoenix. I loved that the only border you faced was the horizon, ever expansive and suffocatingly open. I loved the ferocious sun and the stifling heat - because the only way I would ever appreciate the cold was when I faced hundred and ten degree summers.

We pulled to a stop in the massive parking complex. "Bella," my mother said to me, "You know that you don't have to do this, right? We'll find ways to make it work, I know we will."

I didn't like lying, but it was easier when I found a glimmer of truth to exploit. "Mom, it's not like I would be around for forever anyway. I only have a year and a half left, and then I'm off to college. It won't be any different in Forks than it would be in Phoenix or Jacksonville."

She made a pensive hum, because that is what good mothers do when their child is about to leave them. I could see the conflict in her eyes - how she knew that this would be a fresh, liberating change after seventeen years of childcare, but how she also genuinely didn't want to see me go.

Somewhere along the way, she had learned to be a parent. Charlie probably would have gotten there too, in the end. I guess he'd just never had the chance for more than two months at a time.

Because she didn't say anything, I said, "It'll be great. For both of us."

"And Charlie," she agreed.

"And Charlie."

"Tell him I said hi, would you? And make sure he buys you some clothes for the winter. And call me the second you want a plane ticket..." She listed off several more things not to forget as we got out of the car and unloaded my jam-packed suitcase - all of the possessions I owned that were suitable for living in the least desirable environment I'd ever known.

"I love you," my mother said, and I realized now just how often I had taken those words for granted. We shared a tight hug, during which I was a little bit too speechless to do more than echo her words.

Then I was on a plane. The world I belonged in still existed, but I was gone from it.

I spent the five hours from conjoined flights I had thinking about a number of things. The first was how quickly I would be able to contact my best friend, Nina, once I got to Forks. The second was how quickly I would destroy any chance at potential friendship at my new school - which Charlie had already registered me for, apparently. The third was the inevitable awkward that would settle over the house tonight, and how quickly Charlie and I would learn to wade through it until we carved a path into some semblance of normalcy.

It was raining when I landed in Port Angeles, which was an hour's drive away from Forks. I wasn't surprised to see the rain, but I certainly wasn't thrilled. I knew what I was getting into. That didn't make it any easier.

Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser - he didn't have a car besides it, but I would have my own soon enough. Besides the fact that it would be humiliating to show up to school as the only new kid in a town where everybody knew everybody, there was the other obvious dilemma. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

Where my mother's hug had symbolized the divisive end of Life As I Knew It, Charlie's hug was the beginning of Hell As I Will Learn It. The gray area in between had been a muddle of overdramatic emotions and conflicts of interest.

"Hey, Dad," was my grand exclamation of reunion. Generally, it was frowned upon when kids addressed their parents by their first names, so I never called him Charlie to his face.

"It's good to see you, Bells," he said. I was unsteady after a long plane ride. "Good flight? How's Renee?"

"Mom's fine. She says hi," I said.

"Hi, Renee," Charlie interjected. He took my rolling suitcase from me as I secured my over-the-shoulder bag. The several books I had crammed inside jutted uncomfortably into my hip.

I continued, "It's good to see you, too. On the first flight, there was a woman sitting next to me who kept spilling her water. She got it all over me halfway into awful turbulence."

Charlie's lips quirked up, a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. "Sounds like your luck hasn't changed much."

"No, indeed."

My bags fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser. As full as they were, they were still small. I said, "Mom told me to tell you that I don't have a lot of winter clothes." Most of my statements were made that way. I didn't like to impose unless the situation was dire. I preferred it when other people filled in the blanks.

Charlie nodded responsibly. "We'll take care of it." Then he said, his voice passive, "By the way, Bells, I found a good car for you. Cheap enough that you don't have to worry about it."

My eyebrows knitted together. "A good car, or a good car _for me_?"

He cleared his throat and flicked the turn signal over.

"Okaaaaay," I said, because it wasn't out of the question at all - any car had to be better than no car. "What kind is it?"

He pursed his lips. "A Chevy," he said. "A, uh, a Chevy truck."

"Dad, I know that Phoenix is south of Forks, but that doesn't mean I'm _from the Deep South_." I was mostly joking. "When - where - I mean… Where's it from?" I fumbled with cars, so I didn't know which questions to ask.

"From Billy Black, down at La Push - you remember him?"

La Push was the local reservation, but I didn't remember much more than that about it.

"I've met a ton of your friends, Ch- Dad. That doesn't mean I remember their names," I told him.

"You and I would take fishing trips with he and his wife during the summer, before she passed," Charlie reminded me. A sudden image of an uncomfortably rickety boat filled to the maximum capacity flicked behind my eyes. I remembered being young and underdeveloped, with a deep, heavily set frown and a penchant for complaining. I'd kicked most of that by now, but sometimes muscle memory left the choice out of my hands.

"Okay," I prompted.

Charlie explained, "He's in a wheelchair now, so he offered me a good deal on his truck."

"What year is it?" Had I phrased that correctly? I knew that years were a term of measurement not exclusive to cars, but definitely of the more important ones when it came to deciding on one. His breath came out in a pensive half-grunt, his lips pursing. I didn't pretend that I hadn't asked the question.

"I believe he bought it in the early eighties - but he's done plenty of work on the engine. It runs like it's practically new."

" _Practically_ new? When was it _actually_ new?"

Charlie shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Just as the radio in his car burst to life, he admitted, "I think it's a product of the early-sixties, late-fifties."

After that, the conversation abruptly cut off. Even if the transmission had come through clearly, I wouldn't have been able to decipher it. Cop lingo was too quick and complicated for me to grasp, which, I suppose, was the point. Charlie, however, seemed to have understood it with perfect clarity.

"Son of a…"

I could see his brain suddenly start working; it was like a light switch had flipped. He said, his voice deeper, "I'm going to have to drop you off, Bella, I'm sorry. This is something I'll need to deal with."

A handful of other voices chattered through the radio, and Charlie's frown deepened with every one.

"Is it important?" I asked. He didn't answer, which meant yes, so I continued, "Dad, the house is another twenty minutes away. Go ahead and answer it. I'll wait in the cruiser if that makes you feel better."

Being related to a cop had its ups and downs. I was used to them, and I didn't hold it against him.

"It's a murder, Bells. I don't want you anywhere near that."

That closed the conversation. He capitalized on the shock value of his job like no other. The summer I was thirteen, I'd accidentally left the oven on while baking cookies for the station, and he'd discreetly left a file laid out with cases of house fires on the living room table the next morning.

Like I said, he was a late bloomer when it came to the do's and dont's of parenting. Still, it had gotten the message across. I haven't left the oven on since.

The silence was infinitely worse than the conversation had been, which was saying something, so I said, "You didn't need to buy me a car, Dad. I was going to help." My voice was smaller now.

"Nonsense, Bells, keep your money. I wanted you to be happy here."

The silence felt a bit more absolute this time. I let the moment go, and rode out the rest of the twenty minutes without comment. It was cold, but I had the window rolled down. It was better to listen to the roar of the rain and wind than to have to face that silence head on.

Instead, I looked out on Forks. Beauty was subjective, of course, but it was inherently pleasing to see something so tall and grand, the trees stretching onward and upward forever, and everything covered in green, looking so very, very alive. Whereas Phoenix had been open and barren, Forks was a maze of plants, rolling hills, and rain. I was no longer in the center of an endlessly stretching horizon - I was being choked by the claustrophobia of the most rural that America had to offer. I didn't feel Forks in my heart. I felt the blazing scorch of Phoenix, like I could carry it with me if I tried hard enough.

I wondered when that feeling would disappear. Would it happen gradually, or would I wake up one morning and realize that I had no idea what the sun felt like anymore?

Charlie had lived in the same house for as long as I could remember. A small, mismatched number that he and my mother had settled on in the early days of their marriage - arguably the only kind of days their marriage had had.

But because the house was rather boring and exactly the same as it had always been, before I saw it, I saw the truck.

It was a beat up thing, severely rusted, and rounded out like something from a coloring book. I didn't doubt that Charlie's guess as to its production date was very close. The rust was nearly indistinguishable from its original dull red paint, but easily spotted up close. The most appealing thing about it, though - the thing that made it a good car _for me_ , as Charlie had said - was that it was a mechanical behemoth. There was no chance of anything getting through it. Half a century old, and I couldn't spot a dent.

I was floored by the way my heart leaped out toward it.

This was the first thing that made me excited for school tomorrow; I would be able to test the truck, and I wouldn't be walking in the rain.

With Charlie's help, all of my stuff was upstairs in a single trip.

The upstairs bedroom had been mine since I was born, but I'd barely ever slept in it. Like me, it never went through many changes. Over a decade ago, the crib turned into a bed, and more recently, a desk was crammed between a window and a corner. There was a computer, a phone, and a lamp on top of it. The floor was spotless wood, with a single, faded rug I had spilled hot chocolate on close to fifty times. The bed was bigger than my bed in Phoenix, with a quilt my mother had made when she was pregnant draped over it. A rocking chair sat useless in the corner. The room was familiar, but vacant. There were hardly any memories in here.

Charlie didn't hover on a regular day, which was my favorite thing about him. But with the additional call giving him his first emergency in months, he left me to practice looking sullen and find a place for my things in my severely undercrowded room.

I didn't have much in terms of decoration. One poster of _Wicked_ , and a few framed pictures - one just the view from my bedroom window in Phoenix, on a bright day. The last picture I hung up was of the camping trip I had taken with Nina and her family last summer. I committed it to memory as I called her; she was heading out to dinner soon, but we talked for a good fifteen minutes - mostly about what was happening on her end. Fifty years could pass in Forks, and there still wouldn't be much to catch up on.

When she asked about school, I paused. With its newest addition, Forks High School had a terrifying total of three hundred and fifty-eight students - less than half in the junior class of Phoenix alone. I wasn't excited for my impending inglorious crash and burn as the girl who couldn't live up to Phoenix expectations.

"All it'll take is one nice person," I assured Nina, slightly breathless with the anxiety of possible failure.

"Someone who tolerates your penchant for big words," Nina agreed. "And the fact that you should choke on them, but somehow manage to not. Seriously, you have no idea how much of my brain I had to use while talking just then for one joke. And it wasn't even that good."

"Should I pity-laugh?"

"It would make you a good friend."

I did.

Then she left for dinner, and I took a deep breath to prepare for the day ahead.


End file.
